The first boy was always the hardest.

Teaching was great for me, because I got to show people how writing can really change the way you see not only yourself but the world.

How ballsy it was to just assume you know, with one glance, the things another person could live without. As if it was the same for everyone, that simple.

Leaving was easy. It was everything else that was so damned hard.

But as i lay there, it only seemes like silence filling my ears. And the thing was, it was so freaking loud.

Being brave and self-confident doesn't necessarily start inside...It starts with the rest of the world, and it leads back to you.

The worst part was that I had things I wanted to tell my mother, too many to count, but none of them would go down so easy. She'd been through too much, between my siters-I could not add to the weight. So instead, I did my best to balance it out, bit by bit, word by word, story by story, even if none of them were true.